Hellraiser: Reconstructed
by InkWorthy
Summary: The players are here, but the board is not as you might remember. An alternate retelling of the Hellraiser story, set in the modern day and spliced into a new but familiar creature. Canon-divergent from the first word. Rated M for horror and sexual themes. (Pinsty and other ships will appear later). (HIATUS)
1. Chapter 1

_At it again, yes indeed. This is going to be a bit of a long-term project; an attempt to take the best of the Hellraiser films and rearrange them into one cohesive whole, while initially being as loyal to the original content as possible. Pieces will be put in different spots on the playing board, and obviously things will play out differently, but many characters are starting from the same place as they did in their respective films. I'm drawing mainly from films 1-4, with a little bit of 5 and 7, and ignoring 8 and 9 entirely._

 _This should be interesting. Alright, I'll shut up and let them do the talking. Please let me know what you think!_

* * *

The walk to the car felt like one of the longest Kirsty had taken in a long time. It couldn't have been more than ten feet away, but the silence that hung in the air was suffocating, like a scarf caught in a pair of turning cogs. She kept looking up at the other woman and opening her mouth, then closing it again, glancing back at the doors further and further behind her. She'd done this three times before finally reaching the passenger door, and she got in without a word.

She had been promised it wasn't a long drive – 15 minutes at the most – but that didn't really help. Kirsty looked at the woman driving again and took a breath. She couldn't find any words in her thousands of questions. They piled on top of each other in her head, struggling to get out, pushing at her throat to the point of clogging it.

"I'm sorry about your father." Kirsty was pulled out of her circling thoughts and finally found her voice.

"I, ah, thank you. I mean, I appreciate…"

"It's okay, you don't have to talk until you're ready." The woman, Joey, smiled at her, that quiet half-smile Kirsty saw often from her father the weeks after her mother had died. "I can't imagine what it's like. Do you want me to put on some music?"

"That would be great, thanks." Joey turned the radio on to some summer station, and frothy pop bubbled out of the speakers. Kirsty wasn't paying attention to the words, but the background noise – the reprieve from the hospital's silence – was enough to help her find words again. "I do appreciate this, though. You didn't have to come all the way out here."

"I wanted to." Joey turned the volume down as she exited the parking lot and veered onto the highway. "We're both looking for people, and your story… your story sounded an awful lot like mine."

"How so?"

Joey didn't answer immediately, her eyes trained on the street. The roads were mercifully low on traffic, and they started for the address Kirsty had given her over the phone. Kirsty was looking forward to being home, and far away from the Channard Institute.

Finally, Joey spoke again. "One of my friends… her ex went missing a few weeks ago. She asked me to look into it."

"Because you're a reporter."

 _"_ I _was_ a reporter." Joey changed the station. "Anyway, she asked me to look into it, and we did some investigating, collected evidence. We found this... we found something."

"You can't remember either?" Now Kirsty looked at her with less skepticism and more open interest. Joey shook her head.

"I remember it felt important, and it was small enough to carry. We brought what we found back, and she was messing with the one… the _thing_ while I went out to get dinner. I came back, and…"

Kirsty could finish this part of the story. "Whatever it was did something, and there was a flash of light, and your friend was gone, along with the thing." Just like her father.

"You handled it better than I did," Joey said, offering another half-smile; this one seemed a bit more humorous, though. "Calling the police, I mean. I just ran out and started shouting her name in the streets. "Terri! Terri!" It was ridiculous." Joey laughed a bit and shook her head, but it was short-lived. She looked ahead, frowning. "I hope she's alright, wherever she is." Kirsty nodded; she had been hoping the same throughout her stay in the hospital.

They drove in silence for a few more minutes before Joey spoke up again. "I have a question, actually. Why did you post it online? Not that I'm not glad you did, but why not trust the police?"

"They kept trying to explain it away." She shook her head. "Said he must have been abducted and I'd gone into shock, things like that. They didn't believe me. I was just hoping somebody would know what I was talking about." They 18-year-old pushed a few strands of hair from her face. "They thought he'd struck me in the head and run off. But he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't."

"Neither would Terri. We'll find them." Kirsty felt a hand on her shoulder, and for the first time since her father's disappearance, she smiled a bit at the woman next to her.

"We will." She wanted to believe it. She would promise herself that; she would believe it, even if it took time. She felt more comfortable than she had in a long while, driving home with a stranger as the sun was setting.

* * *

Doctor Philip Channard was a man of science and inquiry. He dealt in questions, answers, and facts. These were the facts: Kirsty Cotton had checked herself into his institute following the disappearance of her father, Larry Cotton. Larry had gone missing from the attic of his brother's house. His brother Frank had willed it to him. Now Larry's wife Julia lived in the house alone, even though Frank wasn't dead.

Frank also owed the doctor a generous sum of money, as well as a particularly valuable box. The box had to still be inside the house, even if Kirsty insisted that she could remember nothing of what she'd seen beyond her father vanishing in a flash of light, and nothing suspicious being in the room after the event. She couldn't describe the box to him; she just referred to it as a "thing".

Doctor Channard allowed her to check out of the hospital after one more round of evaluations, routine and nothing of suspect. He watched her walk out with somebody she'd described as a friend, and although he had his doubts, he let her. She didn't know what the box could do; and while he suspected she might make fine bait for what lay within, it was too soon for him to make his next move.

The doctor looked through her file, the papers and exam results laid out on his desk. One form caught his eye, and he picked it up before reaching for his phone. He added a new contact, saved, and closed it again.

He would have to reach out to Mrs. Cotton soon.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two for two! I'll be the first to admit I remember very little about Deaders besides the ending, so I apologize if Amy seems OOC here. I'm going to try and get one more chapter complete by the end of the day if I can get away with it, and then I'll be off for a week. But hey, it'll give me more time to write, won't it?_ _Also, a big thank you to L.J. for the review! I'm glad to hear this piece is off to a good start._

 _As always, please let me know what you think, and happy reading!_

* * *

Julia Cotton considered herself a charitable woman. Sometimes she even acted like it.

Kirsty was not her daughter, but she'd hugged the girl when Larry had suddenly disappeared, and let her cry into Julia's shoulder, until her tears threatened to soil Julia's new dress. It had been a dreadful long time they'd sat next to each other and Kirsty had cried and cried, waiting for the police to arrive. Still, she did feel sorry for the girl; whatever she had seen had shaken her terribly, and she couldn't even remember what it was that had supposedly taken her father.

That wasn't to say Julia wasn't upset over her missing husband. Oh, no, she was absolutely worried. Larry Cotton was a good man, a kind man, loyal the way a dog was, and she didn't believe for a second that he had disappeared willingly as the police suspected. He wasn't cunning enough for that. Still, she had plenty of doubt about him just vanishing in a flash of light the way Kirsty had said he did. And while she certainly had her own questions, she was all too glad when the police stopped asking them and investigating the attic – the inexplicably spotless attic – and left her alone.

Now she could do her own investigating.

Julia scoured the upstairs with a flashlight and a feather duster. The room was musty and old, but didn't smell like old cologne and sex the way she'd expected; the way Frank had smelled that one night.

It technically didn't count as infidelity, since she and Larry had been on a short break from the relationship. Julia had told herself this enough times that she believed it.

It must have been an hour that she spent up there, checking for false floors and hidden compartments in walls, looking for anything that might have been… a clue, maybe, even if just thinking the word made her feel like a child. But there was nothing; no blood, no weapons, not even discarded needles or whatever accouterment was required to live as Frank Cotton had lived. The attic – in fact, the whole house – was devoid of evidence he'd ever lived there.

Julia started to make her way back to the stairs, the flashlight and duster tucked under her arm. She stopped just long enough to look at the room one more time, and see the evening sun spill through the single window.

Something twinkled.

Julia frowned. She hadn't seen anything in that spot before, but as she walked over, the glittering thing didn't disappear as a trick of the eye. It sat, patiently, until she picked it up.

It was a box. Julia turned it over in her hands, not even noticing the duster dropping to the floor, and ran her thumb over one of the designs. The entire thing was adorned with a thin sheet of carefully-cut metal. Julia discovered this because part of the design sliced into her thumb.

"Shit!" She dropped the box and looked at her hand; it didn't hurt badly, but it was bleeding a ridiculous amount for such a small cut. Julia cursed again. She started to head for the stairs, intent on getting to a sink, when her ell phone rang. She answered it with her clean hand, still walking.

"Hello? …Oh, is this Kirsty's doctor? No, she hasn't come to see me yet… yes, I have time to talk to you, what time would work? I'm not very busy this weekend."

* * *

Kirsty had gone right to sleep as soon as she and Joey had gotten to her place, and Joey didn't blame her. She couldn't imagine how taxing the hospital must have been, on top of everything else, and she'd fallen asleep herself not long after. She dreamt in passing and woke up to find only four hours had passed; it was still dark out, not even a moon to break the darkness.

Joey peeked into Kirsty's room for only a moment; she was sleeping soundly, almost peacefully. She deserved it.

She may have driven the girl home, but Joey was a guest, and didn't want to intrude on Kirsty's space without permission. While she was aching for a cup of coffee, she instead poured herself some tap water, and sipped it while tossing ideas back and forth in her head. She didn't want to go back to sleep, but it wouldn't be a reasonable hour to start calling people for a while. She could start unpacking her files, she mused.

…Or…

Joey pulled her phone from her pocket. Low battery – she had to get in the habit of carrying a portable charger with her. 37% was still a decent amount for one long-distance call, though. She dialed and waited, her finger tapping against her glass as the dial tone sounded. It picked up after two rings – she always did.

"Joey, did you get there yet? Any sign of it?"

"Hello to you too, Amy," Joey smiled, "I did. She's asleep right now, it's like 4 AM. Are you back from Bucharest?"

"I just got off the plane. It's good to be home." She heard a sigh on the end of the line. "I'm so tired, that was not a good flight. But I have what I needed."

"You found the Deaders?"

"I wish. I managed to track down the man in charge – Winter, can you believe that's his actual name? – but I followed him to where this ritual was supposed to take place with all of the Deaders, and I must have missed it. And them."

"Please don't tell me they're gone."

"Gone!" Amy was cut off by a grunt; she must have bumped into somebody. "Sorry, I'm trying to get to the taxi service as fast as I can. But they were all gone from their cult dungeon, there was nothing but candles and old blood."

"Amy, I love you, but that's really creepy." Joey said it with a smile and shook her head. "What now?"

"I managed to spot Winter leaving, but I don't know where he went. All I know is that the one time he spoke, he talked about a cousin of his, and unlocking the secrets of the Lament Configuration."

The back of Joey's neck prickled. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"The box, the one in the notes you sent me. It's called the Lament Configuration. Joey, I couldn't find it anywhere in that dungeon."

Joey swallowed a knot in her throat; in the back of her mind she could see Terri, fiddling with something glimmering in black and gold. The box, how could she have forgotten? Where had it gone?

"Joey?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry Jo, I have to catch a taxi, there's a huge line – hey, watch it! – I'll call you when I get home, okay? I've got my notes from the trip, I'll send them over to you. Get some sleep!"

"Yeah, I will. Get home safe." The call cut off. Joey looked at her phone – 14% - and took a breath.

A box. Had Kirsty seen a box? She'd have to ask in a few hours.

Joey shook her head. Maybe she did need some more sleep.

* * *

 _I will be the first to admit I contradicted what I had written in the first chapter for our good Doctor, and just now fixed it. Proofreading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3! I literally have a chart for all the characters who are going to come in later, you have no idea. This is going to be a long project, but hopefully it'll be worth it. In the meantime, i think I'll write up a couple of drabbles for this universe as it develops, especially for our dear Cenobites who are taking their sweet, sweet time showing up. Feel free to throw suggestions for characters you want to see!_

 _As always, please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading!_

* * *

To put it simply, Frank was fucked.

He was hiding; he'd found an empty chamber and was going to mine it for every minute it was worth. This was worse than any nightmare, or even boredom, which he'd once thought was the worst sort of nightmare. Frank wanted to take a bath, but at this moment he was completely without skin. It probably wouldn't have been the most pleasant experience.

He'd spent two months in this place that could only be Hell. Two months since he'd taken the deal from Channard and gone back on it, and been taken by those _things._ Two months of being torn apart and put back together, only allowed to run long enough to start hoping. Then he would be trapped and torn apart again, all in the name of "transformation" and "exploration of flesh" and other things he didn't give a shit about. Two long, agonizing months.

A month and a half since he'd botched his escape.

Frank leaned against the wall; he should have hissed at the rock against exposed muscle, but now he was just thankful for the cool stone against his unbearably hot flesh. He had to catch his breath while he could, and he had to _think._ He'd been staying sane on nothing but half-planned escapes and some wild hope that he might get home, maybe even finish the deal he'd made for real.

Of course he'd gone back on the deal with the doctor. Who wanted to observe other people, perfectly fuckable women, reaching realms of pleasure beyond human imagination and being ruined for him when he could go himself? So he'd opened the box as soon as he'd finished sweeping one section of his attic and setting up the ritual candles, and now he was full of chains and devoid of skin. Fuck.

They were coming. He could hear the sound of leather and metal, and soon the hooks would be back in him. He was so sick of those stupid _hooks._ Why couldn't he have stuck to the plan with his brother?

He'd been counting on his brother. His good, well-behaved, curious brother, who would never open the box unless he didn't know what it was supposed to do. And he _had,_ just as Frank had promised that one Cenobite he'd taken to calling Pinhead, but things had gone south before he could cash in on his luck. Larry had panicked, they'd fought, and Frank couldn't remember how he'd ended up standing over his brother's body. Now Larry was dead, and Pinhead insisted his soul wasn't here, so Frank couldn't go home unless he had another bargaining chip.

He could have gone for Julia, maybe, but she was a good lay and would probably be okay with some comforting as a recent widow. She didn't have to know, right? But that left him without options, aside from maybe Larry's kid.

…His kid who was 18, and would definitely have been fretting over her missing dad. And more importantly, was a young adult, prime for baiting these flesh-hungry assholes.

He could make this work.

* * *

Kirsty was not prone to memorable dreams. Whatever passed through her mind's eye was gone by the next morning; this was true even in the hospital, where she had been told she slept fitfully but could never remember why. Still, it taxed her during the day; she had felt slow and heavy, as if bearing a great weight on her back, and talking was hard. She'd been looking forward to sleeping in her own bed.

Mercifully, Joey seemed to catch on. The woman let Kirsty run up to her room without protest, and minutes later her teeth were brushed and an old t-shirt was thrown on on and Kirsty threw herself into the bed. She was lost to the waking world in seconds.

 _The attic was filthy. It stunk of old blood and cologne, and broken needles lay in the back corner. A dirty mattress sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by candle stubs and a few loose condoms. Frank's presence hung far too heavy for a dead man's. Kirsty hated being up here, but she had to._

 _That his home was a cesspool was less surprising than that he was dead._

 _She held her breath as she walked around, looking for the box. It had taken her father, there had to be a way to get him back from it. Kirsty stepped over a candle stub and kept walking, looking at the ground. Where had he dropped it? She tried to picture it in her mind, and her gaze travelled to where he'd stood._

 _She shouted._

" _Kirsty-" the thing curled up on the ground was a man, but bloodied and pulpy and horrid. "Kirsty, please, stay away from it, before it gets you too-"_

Kirsty's eyes opened to the dark of her bedroom. Her lungs ached as she tried to steady her breathing, her heart sore and thrumming loudly. The dream was fading fast, but she could still see the bloodied shape of her father, warning her off of… something.

She had been looking for something important, she knew that much. But for the life of her, Kirsty couldn't remember what it was.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. To see her father in such a state… she grabbed her pillow and sobbed, shoulders shaking. Where _was_ he?

Sleep reclaimed her quickly, and she did not dream again. It was the smallest mercies she was grateful for.

Kirsty rose at 8:34, according to her alarm clock, and went to wash her face. As she splashed the cold water against her skin, she heard a small coo, and glimpsed up at the small round window overlooking the bathroom. There was a dove, pure white, peering in. It preened and ruffled its feathers before flying away.

That was odd, Kirsty thought, she'd only ever seen brown doves in this area. Still, it was a pretty sight, and was a welcome change from her dream. What had she dreamt about? She couldn't remember.

"Kirsty?" She nearly locked herself in the bathroom, before remembering Joey. She'd gone right to sleep on the woman, hadn't she? "Good morning!"

"Good morning," Kirsty called back, and smiled to herself. She was starting to like Joey; she seemed nice, and put together, like somebody's big sister. "I'll be down in a minute, alright?" She started to get dressed; seeing her actual clothes again was nice after a month and a half of hospital gowns.

"Take your time! Mind if I make coffee?" She didn't sound tired at all, how long had she been awake?

"Go ahead!" Shirt, jeans – _jeans! –_ socks, and her boots were downstairs. A nice outfit; it felt better than she'd expected, almost hopeful in how normal it was. Things could be normal, maybe. She'd have to write that down. The thought was cheering her up immensely.

Kirsty took one last look in the mirror, and smiled at what she saw. She felt _normal_ again. She pushed her hair back and ran for the stairs, ready to see Joey. They would find her dad, and Terri, and the deal with that white light. Things were going to be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4! Chapter 4!_

 _This one took a bit of rewriting before I was happy with the progress made - this story has so many moving parts, you guys, but I hope it'll be worth it. (I made a chart and everything!) While I;m working on the next chapter, I'll also be posting some oneshots in- and out-of-universe. Feel free to make requests - I'll be setting up a poll tonight._

 _Let me know what you think, and happy reading!_

 _\- Inky_

* * *

The white light amnesia had been his idea.

Of course, giving credit for ideas meant nothing material in the Labyrinth. One could be complimented for an idea or a change that served their order, or condemned for an action or movement which backfired, but there was no true reward for having and acting upon a good idea than the pride of knowing it was yours, or a shred of favor from Leviathan.

He already had the favor of Leviathan.

The practice had come after a night that was unremarkable in most ways. The box was opened, they performed their duty. But a witness had slipped between their fingers, one whose soul and flesh had seemed promising in the glimpse he'd had of them, and he knew they would never open it after seeing them claim their caller. It was regrettable, truly, how humans could not recognize the gift offered them. The Labyrinth had such resplendent gifts to offer, such exquisite sights to see.

That was why he had given Leviathan his suggestion, with humility as only a Prince could muster. A flash of light and the first shock was gone, an easy fix to a difficult problem. To his immense satisfaction, it had _worked,_ and many who might have been lost to the guidance of the Labyrinth opened the box and called him and his Gash forth.

The Prince and High Priest mused over this as he observed his latest student writhing in her binds. She had just crossed over, he could see in her eyes. There was a point where they reached the threshold of human limitations, and the Prince allowed himself a satisfied, proud chuckle as she found hers. The screams would change to moans soon, and from moans to pleading, to requests, to questions. And that was when the lessons could truly begin; this one showed a great deal of potential.

The lonely ones often did.

"Do not run from it," he said, watching her back arch and her exposed muscles contort, "you are at the edge of understanding. Let it consume you." His hand ran through her long, dark hair, soaked in blood and shimmering in the pale candlelight of her cell. "You will be with us soon."

As her eyes sunk shut, he let his thoughts return to those lost. One in particular had caught his attention, which was not unusual. She had held onto it for longer than usual, which _was._

Anticipation was something reserved for the moments he sensed the box opening, the greeting of a new student, and precious little else. And he could not cross over and take her himself. But as the Prince watched the woman before him cry out, he found himself entertaining the notion (and, perhaps, even hoping) that the girl with curly brown hair would open the box herself. In the meantime, he would have to wait, and observe her when he could. And though he could not cross into her world of his own accord, that did not mean he could not peak. So he would wait, and watch, for Kirsty Cotton's arrival.

She had been much more intriguing than her father.

* * *

"This box?"

"This is the one." No Frank, but he had it back, and that did satisfy the doctor to an extent. It meant he had what he needed back for the time being, and perhaps more, depending on the temperament of the woman sitting across from him. "Kirsty described it in detail during our discussions."

"She never mentioned it." He was sure she had, but Channard knew that a month and a half could erode memory. Julia seemed uncomfortable to be here, and he liked that to an extent. This was a place for patients and subjects, for doctors and observers, and visitors from the outside world felt like an unwelcome intrusion at the best of times. Still, he would admit that Mrs. Julia Cotton was quite a pretty woman. It meant nothing to him, but he could admit it.

"This box draws surprising reactions out of people, from what I've seen." He turned it over in his hands, watched her eyes. Outsider or not, he loved seeing people react to the glimmering darkness that was the Lament Configuration. One day he would draw that reaction from people, he was sure. "What do you think of it?"

"I think it's something Frank would have spent money on," she said, and the way she said "Frank" – with familiarity, with _comfort_ – caught his attention. "And it cut my hand. Still, it's a very pretty box."

Perhaps she was more promising than he'd thought.

"It is." He sighed, a practiced and wholly convincing act. "I was hoping to get her opinion on it, now that we actually have it… do you think you could…?"

"Oh, absolutely," Julia said, and she seemed all too happy about the thought of having somebody else take her place. It had taken her blood – he would remember that. But Kirsty was the one who had seen what it could do firsthand. He needed _that,_ if he couldn't have Frank. Julia was already buttoning her purse, clearly ready to leave. "I'll call her as soon as I'm home."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cotton," he said, "I look forward to hearing from you both soon."

"Of course." And she was out the door. The doctor waited five minutes before picking up his phone.

He had one other resource to mine.

* * *

John Merchant hadn't slept in four days. Nothing could pry him away from his work – not hunger, not exhaustion, and not his poor secretary who had to deal with screening all of his calls. He poured every ounce of energy into designing and building his works; he'd just been nominated for an award, and he needed to prove he was worth the nomination. That was his justification to his wife, his son, his secretary (who kept getting calls for him from some doctor in New Jersey) and his cousin.

His irritating, infuriating, idiotic cousin.

John didn't believe in curses, not even as a child. He was the science camp boy, the robotics team boy, the "Odyssey of the Mind" boy in the family. He lived for being creative in the moment, for what was right in front of him. He didn't believe in magic or other worlds or anything else Warren (Winter, he had changed his name to Winter _Lemerchand_ like some pretentious prick) would go on about.

Winter did. He found a thousand and one stories about demons and angels and the sort, and for years had been trying to rope John into chasing them down with him.

Honestly, John was more impressed that Winter had even found him again, seeing as they'd met exactly once as kids. And, again, he was convinced that Warren Winter was an idiot.

So he wasn't _happy,_ per se, to see his cousin at the art gallery as he was closing up shop.

With… a girlfriend.

God help her.

He was about to open his mouth and ask what she did to deserve that when his arms were grabbed, and roped, and he saw one of the guards lying on the ground before a bag went over his head.

God help him, then. The world went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5! We're finally getting back on track.I have a better understanding of where I'm going with this and feel confident about moving forward. Whoo!_

 _\- Inky_

* * *

Amy was an absolute angel, Joey decided as she read through her emails. Old documents, photos, diary entries as old as 400 years had been unearthed between the two of them, but this? This took the cake.

Kirsty was coming downstairs. Joey looked up from the computer just as she hit "send" on the email she'd been writing. The young woman looked much better than yesterday; the fear that had lingered over her in that hospital room seemed far away and forgotten. Kirsty looked up at Joey and gave a small smile.

"Hi."

"Hey. I made coffee, didn't know how you like it. There's milk and sugar." She was sitting at the small table with her own cup and her laptop, and Kirsty walked over with her arms folded over her chest.

"Thanks," she said, grabbing the little paper cup of milk and pouring it all into her mug. She took a sip and her shoulders relaxed. She gave a small hum. "I missed coffee."

"None at the hospital?"

"None," Kirsty said, and took another drink. She smiled wider, and for the first time since meeting the girl, Joey believed this was a teenager. She was… 18? That was what Joey remembered. Kirsty finally sat down. "What's the plan?"

"Well," Joey said, tapping her finger against the screen of her laptop, "I have a ton of documents I've been looking through - a friend of mine is looking for this puzzle box, too."

"Puzzle box?" She looked at Kirsty, and watched those dark eyes widen. She looked from her cup to Joey and used one hand to grab her shoulder. "That's right, it was a black and gold puzzle box! I remember!"

"Yeah, I had that moment last night." Kirsty looked back at her cup, gripping it like a lifeline, and Joey felt herself soften a bit. "It's okay, Kirsty. You just got home. If you want to talk about it, I'll be happy to, but if you don't, that's alright too."

Patience was something learned; she desperately hoped Kirsty might have some better recollection of what she'd seen, seen and couldn't remember, but Joey knew better by now than to push. Amy had called her on that more than once, on her habit to put the story before the people in it, and she was trying to be better.

Maybe she was, because Kirsty relaxed a bit. "Thank you," she said, taking another sip. "I think… I want to. I don't want to wait… I want my dad back."

"Yeah," Joey said, and turned her laptop so Kirsty could see. "So these are all stories from people who have encountered the box, diary entries and things like that. Now, I just emailed a woman who curates old artifacts around this thing - the Lament Configuration - to talk, and I'm hoping to hear back from her by the end of the day. With any luck, she'll at least have a clue what actually happens to the people that open it."

"What actually happens? What do people think will happen?"

"Well…"

* * *

"It is a portal to another dimension, of sensation and experience beyond human comprehension."

"You realize you sound like a madman." John struggled with the rope around his wrists. 'No, actually, you _are_ a madman. Why would you want to make _another_ of this thing?"

"Because it is our bloodright." Winter had scars in his face, small puncture wounds that looked uneven and painful and revolting. They were on his hands, too, as he held the sketches to John to see. They were old, unbelievably old. "Our ancestor built the door, but we can expand it, maintain it, control it."

"Do I need to say it again? Madman." The ropes were going to put blisters on his wrists, and he couldn't see them when they were behind his back on the chair he was seated in, because today wasn't already enough like a bad crime thriller, was it? "Why don't you just build it, then?"

"I inherited the vision, and the journals," Winter said, and he finally got those ratty sheets out of John's face and stepped back, "but you inherited the hands. You can create, breathe ideas to life. We need to work together to fulfill our fates." John wasn't comfortable looking at his cousin's scarred face, and glimpsed at his dim surroundings.

They were in a warehouse, all three of them. The girlfriend was leaning against a wall, watching with a rather bored expression when she wasn't typing on her phone. She had dark hair and a pretty face, and her dress must have cost more than Winter had ever owned in his life.

Clearly, John thought with some bitter amusement, she wasn't dating him for his money.

"What will you do if I say no? Will you keep me down here?" He could probably take out Winter f he got the drop on him; kick his legs out, knee to the jewels, something. The woman he could most likely outrun, largely because she was in heels. "Because nothing about this sounds like a good idea."

Winter looked at the woman, who kicked a box near her with a tarp over it. He heard something muffled, but it was clear the second time, and his veins turned cold.

"Daddy?"

"Jack?" He looked up at Winter. 'That's not Jack, is it? You wouldn't hurt him. You wouldn't."

"We need you, John," Winter said, and John looked at the box.

He didn't believe. He didn't believe because believing was too terrible to consider.

"...Okay," he said, shoulders sagging. 'I'll do it."

The woman smiled, and put her phone away as she started walking to Winter. She was by his side with a few clicks of her heels against concrete. "I'm going to head out," she said, kissing his cheek with dark lips, "shall I take care of this while I'm out?"

"Of course," Winter said, and she walked back to the box and lifted a small lever underneath. John watched as it was wheeled away, out of his sight.

"I love you, Jack!" He called, "Stay safe with Mom!" He would be at the next game when this didn't work and he got free, he promised himself. He _would._

"Let's not waste any time waiting for her to get back, then."

"Where's she going? She's going to let go of Jack, right? What's she going out for?" Was his son going to be okay?

Winter said nothing at first. He simply walked around him, and a knife cut through John's binds, leaving a small mark on the back of his hand.

"Just getting one more piece."


	6. Chapter 6

_Apparently I last updated this story in 2017. I still have ideas, and it's probably going to be a slow-developed piece, but I don't want to give up on it until I hit a dead end I can't reroute or I actually get it done. There is no schedule for this, but I hope you enjoy it as it comes._

* * *

She hated this.

It was only her second day out. She'd had brunch with Julia, and that had actually been nice. They were hardly family, but there was something about shared concern that made talking easier - and it certainly seemed that way for Julia, too. They had shared their concerns, laughed over one of her dad's favorite jokes, and it had been... pleasant, almost fun. It was hard to think of anything as fun after those two months, but Kirsty had actually enjoyed herself.

And then Julia dropped the bombshell; Dr. Channard wanted her to come back to the hospital for a follow-up. Kirsty had managed to keep her composure, or at least she'd hoped she did, but as soon as she got back to the car she had cried for the first time in over a month. She couldn't drive there alone again. She couldn't face the memories of feeling alone and doubted by everyone again, not by herself.

So she didn't.

"You'll stay out here?"

"I will," Joey nodded, and Kirsty nodded back. She tried to look like she had it together, but salt stung the corners of her eyes as she took her first steps down that tree-laden path again. She hated this place, hated spending time in this place, but she'd rather have gotten it out of the way than put it off and had its shadow looming over her head. Still, she thought, she _hated_ this miserable hospital. Weren't doctors supposed to make you feel better? Everything about the sterile environment did the opposite, made her feel isolated, on edge.

This was not a human place, she thought, although she wasn't sure what that meant. At least the birds were pretty, she mused as a group of doves in brown and white flew off. She eventually reached the office of Dr. Channard, and took in a breath before opening the door.

* * *

It was promising, the reaction Kirsty showed when he pulled out the box. She'd all but frozen in her seat, her eyes on it as he turned it in his hands, her knuckles white and gripping the upholstery of the office chair. That was quite promising.

"And you're positive you forgot about it after the white flash?"

"I must have," Kirsty said, swallowing. "I didn't remember it when I left the hospital... are you sure I told you about it?"

"You did, in a sense," Dr. Channard answered carefully; this was a delicate case, and she reacted poorly to accusations of lying. "You talked about finding a something in the attic, and your father, and had one brief episode after a nightmare where you insisted you saw a figure standing over another, gripping something in its hand. Granted..."

"...Granted?" he'd informed her of this before, but whatever the amnesia was that the box caused, it seemed to tamper with her other memories as well. He'd wanted to play with that, but Kirsty was a little to spirited to do that effectively. He had no choice but to be direct about the matter.

"...It was during the session where we attempted hypnotism." Her shoulder slumped; she clearly remembered agreeing to it, but the session itself was but a haze in her mind even after he'd woken her up. Stranger still, he hadn't been able to put her _back_ into the hypnotized state afterwards, as if the box's power - the power of that white light - was asserting itself over his hold.

"I wish we hadn't tried that," she said, voice quiet. He nodded, looking stern and compassionate and like a proper doctor should. It had been a risky experiment, an attempt to tap into anything she might have suppressed, but aside from the one visual - the figure standing over her father, bathed in such light that she hadn't seen their face - it had produced nothing and further damaged the clarity of her recollections once she was out.

"As do I. I'm sorry for that, Kirsty, I truly did think it would help." She nodded, and finally her grip seemed to loosen on the seat. Good, that was expensive leather. "I assume you do not want it back?"

"No, I-" she paused, brow furrowing, and he was immediately intrigued. _This_ was new. "Actually... maybe. It might help me remember what happened."

"I see." Well, he'd have to calculate this. "I'd like to study it a little further - it's a unique trinket, to be certain. But I will have it back to you by the end of this month, is that alright with you?" She nodded, and he was satisfied. A week and a half was enough time for notes, and Kirsty's sudden curiosity certainly promised new discoveries. "Good. I will see you then."

"We're done?" Kirsty asked, looking surprised. He nodded.

"You've adjusted to the first 24 hours well, and have shown no signs of relapse. I will want updates, but this is a good start." He needed a field mouse, after all. She smiled, a polite smile more than a happy one, and nodded.

'Thank you, doctor," she said. He waited for her to see herself out before turning his attention to the box. His calls had been fruitless, but he'd made a contact who seemed promising - and quite pretty, too.

* * *

"Poor girl," Joey muttered to herself, looking at the hospital which had all but swallowed Kirsty whole. This place was lovely, but there was something about mental hospitals that always seemed unfriendly; they were supposed to be places of healing, but Joey could never shake the feeling that they were meant to punish the patients, not help them. Kirsty certainly had not looked happy; indeed, Joey had stopped herself from asking questions when Kirsty came back from brunch with a grim expression, and told her that she, Kirsty, had to go back.

But here was Kirsty now, a different expression on her face, and she walked back to the car with a purposeful stride. She got into the car and buckled up without a word, and started ahead at the dashboard for a moment before taking a breath. She looked at Joey, who shook her head a bit.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Channard has the box."

"So did it go be- wait, what?" Joey blinked, her words sinking in. "How does he have it?"

"Julia found it in the attic," Kirsty said, looking ahead again and brushing her hair back over her shoulders with both hands, "and brought it to him. He wants to study it."

"He can't open it, though, or that's another one missing!" Kirsty sighed.

"I know, but he promised he'd have it back. But we know where it is now. And honestly..." She closed her eyes. "I'd rather it there than in the house." That was fair, Joey thought to herself, even if she wasn't thrilled that it was so close and so far. "So that's... good, I think. That's a good start."

"It is a good start," Joey said, "and I've got a better follow-up. We're meeting with my contact for dinner tonight - your pick." Kirsty looked at Joey and smiled, another bright-eyed smile. She must have been a happy girl before all this, Joey thought. Hopefully that would keep coming back.

"I would _love_ a hamburger and house chips," Kirsty said, grinning from ear to ear.


End file.
